


The Elanor Bloom

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friendship between a Ranger from the North and a hobbit on a perilous quest is forged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elanor Bloom

Frodo tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable on the hardwood floor in front of the hearth. He had dozed off a few times, but he felt cold and anxious, and each time he would awaken, he would find that only a few minutes had passed. The fire burned low, smoldering with gentle cracks and snaps. His friends had finally fallen into a deep sleep, as evidenced by three different snores. Frodo was glad that they could sleep, although he found it hard to believe that Merry could after all he had experienced that evening.

“Frodo.”

Frodo sat up, startled by Strider‘s low voice.

The Ranger beckoned to him. “Come, I can see you are having trouble sleeping. I’ve sent for some tea.”

Frodo got up, wrapping himself in his cloak, and settled in the man-sized chair opposite of Strider in front of the window. He still found Strider’s size difficult to get used to. Yes, Gandalf had been the same size, but Gandalf was a wizard, and somehow it seemed right that he should be larger than life. As did it seem with the Elves. But to interact with someone who was not a wizard or an Elf but a mortal who was so much larger, that was strange and disconcerting. All his life, Frodo had mistrusted Big People. Living by the border near the Brandywine, bandits had caused trouble at times, and Frodo only knew men as wicked and greedy. Even Bilbo, a hobbit of the world, had expressed his disgust at the eagerness of Men to start wars and to hoard treasure. Big People were large and none too bright and prone to bullying smaller folk.

Strider was different. He spoke in a low, cultured voice and was grim and mysterious, but he was no fool. Besides, he had earned Gandalf’s friendship and that was no small matter in Frodo‘s world.

Frodo looked out the window into the still, dark main street that wound through Bree. A chill permeated the air and wormed its way deep inside Frodo’s bones. It brought to mind lying naked inside the Barrow, surrounded by bones and cold jewels. He shivered.

He turned to Strider. “That’s very kind of you. I don’t wish to frighten my friends.” He looked at his cousins, his heart aching. What had he been thinking, allowing them to follow him into danger from which there might be no end? Merry twitched in his sleep, as if he had caught Frodo’s dark thoughts or had suddenly fallen into an unpleasant dream. Merry had been so brave, rushing at that Black Rider. He might have been slain. Frodo’s heart clenched at the thought. He could never forgive himself if anything happened to his young friends.

I should have put my foot down back in Crickhollow.

“They should be frightened,” Strider said. “Do they really know what they are doing, coming with you?”

Frodo sighed, clutching his hands together. “I suppose none of us do, me no more than they. Gandalf talked in riddles, as I’m sure you know.” He smiled. “In many ways, it might be better for us to walk blindly through the darkness than to light a torch and see the horror around.”

“I would beg leave to disagree,” Strider said. “This is a danger you must face with your eyes wide open.”

“The night has a chill to it. Something the fire can’t warm.”

“Then you perceive what I do. They are coming, the Black Riders.” Strider laughed grimly. “That bit of foolishness in the Common Room, that trick you performed--”

“It was an accident,” Frodo said sharply, meeting Strider‘s gaze.

“Whatever it was, it has let our Enemy know exactly where we are.”

“Will they come inside?” Frodo asked in alarm. Cold, slithering terror seeped up his limbs at the thought. If this fully armed, hardened Ranger was afraid of the Black Riders and what they might do, then what was he, a mere hobbit from the Shire to do?

“They do not love light or fire, so we must keep the fire going. I doubt they will try to break inside.”

A faint knock on the door startled them both. Strider drew his sword and strode to the door. “Who is it?”

“Nob, sir. I’ve come with your tea.”

Strider sheathed his sword and opened the door, allowing the hobbit servant in. Nob set the tray on the table, glancing over at the sleeping hobbits.

Strider touched his shoulder. “Keep watch tonight, you and all your people.”

“There’s a terrible chill to the air,” Nob said. “Something just don’t feel right. I can’t say I won’t be relieved when the sun rises. Good night, sirs.”

After Nob left, Strider poured tea into mugs for himself and Frodo. Frodo held his mug in shaking hands and sipped. A little warmth filled his stomach and eased his shivering, and he was grateful to Strider for ordering the tea. Frodo felt comfortable and safe with him. Frodo had always made friends cautiously but with great depth. It was not his style to dismiss a person based on worldview (such as his generalization about Big People), nor was it his style to play at being mistrustful when he did not in fact feel mistrust. Strider the Ranger fascinated him, and instinctively, he trusted him, fully, despite Sam’s misgivings. Frodo sensed also a deep sadness in Strider, something that drove him again and again into danger because he must.

“Do you really think we can make it to Rivendell?” Frodo asked. “It seems so desperate.” He imagined feeling this same chill of impending calamity in the wild, with no shelter.

“It is. But you have me with you,” Strider managed a smile. “And I will take you on paths unknown to most, where even the Black Riders will have difficulty tracking us.”

“But we’ll be out in the wild, far from help.”

“There’s naught to be done about that. We’ll just take it one day at a time.”

Frodo curled in the chair and after a time, he dozed just a little, feeling utterly safe while Strider was guarding them.

He was jolted awake by the pounding of hooves, distant shouts, and horns of alarm.

“Wha--”

“Get down!” Strider demanded, grabbing Frodo’s arm and pulling him from the chair, pushing him against the wall under the window. “Stay out of view.” Strider stood vigilant and tense, sword in hand, against the wall beside the window.

Frodo crawled to his pack, where he had packed the sword that he had picked up in the Barrows, and he clutched it in his shaking hand. He crawled back to his position against the wall under the window.

A screech, unworldly and terrible, filled the night, and Frodo dropped his sword with a clatter and covered his ears. Strider knelt beside him, holding him.

The other hobbits struggled awake.

“What is it?” Merry asked, clutching the blanket to his chin.

Sam crawled over to join Frodo. Strider released Frodo and moved to the door, prepared to fight should anything break down the door.

“It’s so cold,” Frodo said, clutching Sam‘s arm. He had an alarming desire to get out the Ring again, just to make sure he still had it, just to feel it warm in his hand again. He ached with longing, much like a person who has gone without water for days must feel upon seeing water just out of reach. He trembled and reached for his pocket. He remembered the horror he had experienced earlier that evening when the Ring had slipped on his finger downstairs, the whispering and probing at his mind. He fisted his hands. He would not do that again. Strider caught his gaze with concern. Frodo picked up his sword again with grim determination. The Ring became a weight in his pocket, like a heavy stone, and he could not tear his mind from it. He needed to put it on, just once. He clutched the sword with all hi strength.

No, you fool. You’ll draw them to you. The voice sounded like Gandalf’s and it gave Frodo a bit more strength.

“What’s going on?” Pippin whispered, and he and Merry crawled to join Frodo and Sam.

“Hush!” Strider warned. The unworldly shrieking started again. Lights flickered in people’s houses. Thundering hooves filled the night, and Frodo’s heart chilled until he nearly swooned from the blackness that clawed at his heart.

Slowly, slowly, the hooves faded, and the desire to put on the Ring faded with them. He touched it through the cloth of his pocket, just to make sure it was still there. It no longer felt like a dead weight.

The five of them, one Ranger and four hobbits, sat on the floor now in front of the fire, silent and shivering. Frodo longed to speak, to offer words of comfort to his young friends, but his throat felt thick. In time, the two youngest hobbits curled on the floor, yawning. Soon Sam joined them.

“You should rest now, Frodo,” Strider said. “I shall keep watch the short remainder of this night. We must set out at dawn‘s first light tomorrow.”

“I cannot rid my heart of that horrible sound. I’ve never heard anything so dreadful before.”

“It will be far worse in the wild.”

“I know. Even in the Shire…” Frodo shook his head. “It makes me feel ill to think of such evil reaching the Shire. Tell me something pleasant, something to warm my heart. How did you meet Gandalf?”

Strider smiled. “Long ago in Rivendell. Is that all it takes to comfort a hobbit? A good tale?”

“That and a good meal,” Frodo answered. “When were you in Rivendell?”

“I was raised there for many years. There my heart lies.” And again, Frodo sensed that deep melancholy in the Ranger.

“You were raised by Elves?” Frodo asked in amazement.

“I was, although my mother was there, too, although she died young for one of the Dunedain.”

“Dunedain.”

“Men of the West is what we are called.”

“From Numenor.”

“Yes, that is right. You had good tutoring. Gandalf is a dear friend of Elrond Halfelven, although they do not always see eye to eye on everything. I have traveled much with Gandalf. Middle-earth has never seen the likes of him and never shall after he has departed Middle-earth.”

“But where do you suppose he is now?” Frodo asked. “I have not wanted to worry my friends more than necessary, but well, I am worried. It was unlike him to not show up when he said he would or to at least send word.”

“Try not to worry too much,” Strider said with a comforting smile. “The Enemy would not find it easy to subvert Gandalf. He has strength and power in him that you Shirefolk know little about.”

“Your words give me comfort.” Frodo yawned and curled up on the floor in front of Strider. “There, I think I will sleep for a time.”

***

Frodo fell into a quick sleep, and soon Strider was alone with his thoughts.

What were you thinking, Gandalf?

He looked down at the hobbits. Strider had gladly guarded the Shire for years, and he had learned something of these gentle, pleasure-loving creatures. He believed that Gandalf was right to assume that the Enemy would have a terrible time twisting the heart of a hobbit to ill, but all the same, that one of them should have the most evil weapon of the Enemy hurt Strider‘s heart. Strider did not make friends easily. He guarded his heart behind an impenetrable citadel. He gave his heart rarely.

He had felt an immediate pull toward Frodo, not only because he was a special friend of Gandalf’s who needed to be guided because of what he bore, but on a deep personal level. If they had met under different circumstances, Strider should still like to spend hours in his company. So much of Strider’s time among other people was spent avoiding the suspicious glances and harsh names. He was never warmly welcomed into anyone’s home, save in Rivendell.

He pulled Frodo’s blanket up to his chin, and Frodo smiled in his sleep.

Strider thought about the many years of toil behind him, and that his greatest battle was to come. This was part of the destiny, to get these hobbits to the safety of Rivendell. What then? Would Elrond be able to keep the weapon of the Enemy there? Rivendell was a fortress, but Strider wondered. The Enemy knew that the Ring was abroad and probably headed for Rivendell. How long could Rivendell hold out against the Enemy if the Enemy knew the Ring was there?

Strider wondered at Frodo’s wisdom of bringing along his young friends. Bringing his servant, Strider could understand. Sam seemed like a loyal, sturdy type, full of good sense. But the two younger ones? If Strider had any say in it, he would suggest that they be sent home the very next day. He looked down at Frodo, deep at peace in sleep. He could already see that all who knew Frodo must come to love him. Strider doubted it would be so easy to convince the hobbits to abandon Frodo.

The sky was beginning to lighten, and he heard a commotion coming from the Common Room and rough shouting. Strider shook Frodo awake.

Frodo startled, and scrambled up. “Oh, is it time then? I feel I’ve only just closed my eyes. Let me wake up these rascal cousins of mine and Sam.”

Sam opened his eyes. “I’m awake. Why’d you let me sleep, Mr. Frodo?”

“You needed it. And besides, Strider was on watch.”

Sam lowered his voice, although Strider could still hear what he said. “I don’t know as we can trust him still. Are you sure you want to go traipsing into the wild with him?” Strider was not hurt by Sam’s words, only weary. He had expected it.

But Frodo’s voice warmed his heart.

“I trust him,” Frodo said. “And we cannot make it to Rivendell alone.” He shook Merry and Pippin awake.

“Hoy, are they back?” Pippin asked in alarm, clutching Frodo‘s arm.

“No, it’s just morning,” Frodo said.

Strider cleared his throat. “I want to send you and Merry home.”

“Pardon me?” Merry asked. He and Pippin looked at each other.

“This is no hobbit walking party from now on out,” Strider said. “I fear for your safety.”

“No,” Pippin said, shaking his head. “We’re not going home. We’re not going to leave him.”

“Where Frodo goes, we go,” Merry said. “If you refuse to let us come, we will find a way to follow. Frodo?” Merry looked at him.

Frodo sighed. “I agree with Strider. I should never have let you talk me into you coming. If anything should happen--”

“Then we will be there with you,” Merry said firmly. “Whatever trouble comes to you will come to me, too. Let’s hear no more of this nonsense.” He glared at Strider. Pippin crossed his arms.

“As you can see,” Frodo said to Strider with a fond smile. “Your idea is in vain.”

Strider shrugged. “In good conscience, I had to try.”

“Now let’s get packed,” Merry said. “We’ve got a long journey ahead.”  
After the screeching horrors of the previous night, it seemed miraculous and wondrous that the sun could once again brighten the gray sky, that birds once again leaped from branch to rooftop, singing and chattering, and that the people of Bree could be scurrying about on regular business. Frodo peered outside through the crack in the curtain. Then he knelt beside his sword, which lay under the window, evidence that the night before had not been a dream. He picked it up and gingerly put it inside his pack.

“Come,” Strider beckoned to the hobbits. “I want to show you something before we leave.” The hobbits gathered their packs and followed Strider down the back stairs to the hobbit room into which the hobbits had originally checked into that night. They found Nob and Butterbur already there, fluttering their hands in dismay.

“I’ve never seen the like of this, never in my lifetime,” Butterbur said, shaking his head in misery. Frodo peeked around him into the hobbit guest room. His heart sped as he looked upon the ransacked beds, thrown about like they weighed nothing, pillows ripped apart, their feathers scattered all over the room, and the broken windows. Shattered glass twinkled in the early morning sunlight.

“I thought this might happen,” Strider said.

“If we hadn’t gone to your room--” Frodo started.

“And more bad news, I‘m afraid,” Nob added, speaking mostly to Merry. “The stable was raided last night. All the ponies are gone. Never heard nothing like that screaming last night.”

Merry and Frodo turned to each other in dismay. Frodo’s heart sank. All their ponies -- gone. How on earth would they make it to Rivendell now?

Butterbur nodded, clenching his fists in fury. “Those good-for-nothing men from the south are yammering about their horses being gone when they were the ones that welcomed those strangers. Take up with horse thieves and plunderers, what do they expect? They’ve already given poor Bob a tongue-lashing--” Butterbur broke off into a groan. “What a mess. What are we going to do? What have we come to?”

Frodo touched Butterbur’s elbow. “When we’re gone, they’ll bother you no more.” He looked up at Strider. “What are we going to do without the ponies? Are there any to be had in Bree?”

“We will have to carry more,” Strider said, clearly not encouraged by the thought. “But we shall need at least one pony for supplies.”

“Are there any ponies for sale in Bree?” Merry asked.

“I shall ask around for you,” Nob said. “I think I know of at least one, and his owner’s not likely to sell it for a fair price.”

Butterbur and Nob bustled away, Butterbur to deal with his awakening and discontent guests and Nob to find a pony.

“We’ll not get out of here before noon,” Frodo groaned under his breath.

“We’ll not get out of here unseen as it is,” Merry said. “The other guests seem to be awake, judging from all the racket.”

“At least we can have a proper breakfast while we wait,” Pippin said.

Frodo put his arm around him and squeezed. It was perhaps a selfish thought, but he was now glad that his cousins had stood strong and had not agreed to go home. Whatever would he do without Pippin’s cheerfulness and Merry‘s good sense?

Frodo released Pippin and whispered to Merry, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“Asking you to go home.”

“I thought you might at some point. You can ask all you want, but it won’t ever happen.”

Frodo laughed and gave him a hug. He caught Strider‘s gaze. Frodo wondered if Strider had dear kinsmen that he could fall upon in the darkest of times.

Strider and the hobbits made their way to the now crowded Common Room. Just as they settled at their table, a group of surly men surrounded Butterbur.

“So,” one of them demanded. “What of it, Butterbur? What are you going to do about our horses?”

Frodo leaned over to whisper to Strider, “Do you suppose those men will cause trouble for Butterbur?”

“I suspect they’re merely hot air,” Strider said, but he was tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Frodo thought that Strider would be a dangerous enemy to have.

“And,” Butterbur was saying to the angry men, “you needn’t give my servant the tongue-lashing that you did, neither.”

A sneering man with dark, greasy hair said, “Well, if you didn’t use little dwarves to guard the stable, then maybe the stable wouldn’t have gotten raided.”

“Dwarves?” Sam practically spit.

Pippin glared at the men, and Merry put a restraining hand on him.

The men strode toward the door. A few gave Frodo dark looks but did not dare say anything with Strider staring at them. They muttered among themselves and left the inn.

“Well,” Frodo said. “Good riddance to them.” He dug out his pipe. “I think that a nice after breakfast smoke might do us all some good.”

“Now that’s a fine idea,” Merry said, digging through his pack. Before long, all four hobbits and the Ranger had lit their pipes. Pippin was attempting a smoke ring, but it came out as an amorphous blur.

“No, no,” Frodo said, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “How many times have we gone over this?”

“I just can’t do it,” Pippin said. “Never mind, I’ll just enjoy my smoke, if you don’t mind.”

Merry blew a rather lopsided ring into his face. “Too bad. Taller than you AND I can blow smoke rings.”

“You are not taller than me,” Pippin said.

“I’m taller than you both,” Frodo said. “Now listen, Pippin. Let me show you again.”

“May I listen in on this?” Strider asked. “I can’t blow smoke rings either.”

Frodo laughed. “You’ve been friends with Gandalf for years and you have never learned how to blow smoke rings?”

Just then Nob returned and trotted over to them. “Sirs,” he struggled to catch his breath. “We found one pony. He was all that could be found in all of Bree. He is owned by one Bill Ferny.” Nob winced. “It’s a poorly, skinny little animal and he asked far too much for it.”

“Ah, Bill Ferny. Of course. He’d sell anything to anyone for a bit of mischief,” Strider said under his breath.

“And,” Nob added. “I don’t appreciate being called a rat neither.”

“He called you a rat?” Frodo asked, appalled. “Nob, is that common here in Bree?”

“Not among decent folks, it’s not,” Nob said. “Most of the Big Folk here are kindly and hard-working. But Bill Ferny has been trouble since he was a youth. Watch yourself with him. Don’t let him see which way you’re going. Oh, the pony’s tied up out front.”

“Thank you, Nob. How much was it?” Merry asked.

Nob waved. “Nothing, of course. Your ponies were lost on our watch. It’s not much but it’s the least we can do for now.”

 

Strider and the hobbits stood outside looking at the pathetic scrawny pony that Nob had bought from Bill Ferny.

“Now that was a cheat,” Sam said, shaking his head. “There ain’t no way this pony’s worth that much.”

“Bill Ferny knew we were desperate for it,” Merry said, gritting his teeth.

Sam petted the pony. “Poor Bill.”

“Why are you feeling sorry for Bill Ferny?” Pippin asked. “He’s a wicked, wretched man.”

“Naw, not this Bill,” Sam said, scratching behind the pony’s ears.

“You’re going to name the pony Bill?” Frodo asked in disbelief.

“This is Bill the Pony, a far more intelligent Bill. And we‘re going to take good care of him, yes sirree.”

 

By mid afternoon they had left Bree far behind and the hobbits were weary. Sweat trickled down Frodo’s back and face, and his pack rubbed into his shoulder with blistering pain. The hobbits had grown overly accustomed to riding since Buckland, and although Sam, Pippin, and Frodo had indeed put in many hours of walking to get to Buckland, walking in the Shire could not be compared to this wild land in which paths were rocky and rough and sometimes inclined or declined with little warning.

Frodo’s ankle slammed into a root jutting out of the path, and he toppled to his knees.

Sam ran to him, the pots and pans on his pack clanging. Strider paused and looked back with concern, or possibly irritation. Frodo examined his ankle and saw a red blotch but no real harm done. Merry knelt beside him, his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.

“It’s not swelling at least,” he said.

“Let me see it,” Sam said. “Just sit tight.” He took Frodo’s foot in his hands and said, “Wriggle it around.”

“Sam, I’m all right,” but he obeyed him. It stung a little, but there was no serious injury.

Strider started back to them, but Frodo waved him away. “I’m all right,” he said. Sam helped him to his feet and he wiped the dirt from his jacket. He nodded to Strider to show that he was ready to go on. Strider went on ahead. Frodo hobbled on. His ankle felt a little weak, and one of his knees stung.

“There are these roots, see, in the path,” Pippin said to Frodo with mock gravity. “And if you don’t watch where you’re going, they’ll trip you up.”

Frodo grinned and elbowed him in the ribs.

“There are disadvantages to being tall,” Merry said. “Wouldn’t you say so, Pip?

“He’s not that much taller than us,” Pippin said.

Two hours later, Pippin struggled to keep up with the others. “Surely we’ll stop to set up camp soon? The sun is getting quite low.” His normally merry face was sweaty and flushed, and he stumbled rather than walked.

Frodo’s lower back hurt terribly and the ankle that had hit the root had begun to throb. He longed to throw himself down in the cool grass off the side of the trail, but the more distance they covered before nightfall, the better. Whenever he imagined the Black Riders riding around in the heavy darkness of the wilderness, screeching, sniffing him out, he felt cold inside. He was afraid. He had never been so afraid in his life, and now he was truly vulnerable, far from home and aid and with Gandalf nowhere to be found.

Pippin tripped and stubbed his toe. “Oh, confound it,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We can’t keep going and going like this. Tell Strider that we need to rest. He‘ll listen to you.”

“We must go on,” Frodo said under his breath. “I’m weary, too, but we must go on as long as Strider thinks we ought to.”

“Frodo’s right,” Merry said. Frodo startled at the hollow fear in his eyes, and he wondered again what had really happened to Merry when he encountered the Black Rider on the streets of Bree.

At last Strider led them off the path and behind the shield of a thicket. “We will rest here. I will take a brief nap, if you hobbits will keep watch.”

Pippin threw himself down on the ground. “If you can believe it, I’m too tired to eat!”

“No, I can’t believe that, Peregrin Took.” Frodo took out the sandwiches that Nob had packed for them that morning. “Come on, sit up.”

“Too…tired…” Pippin said.

Frodo set the sandwiches down. “Too tired for…this?” He tickled Pippin under his foot.

Pippin yelped and scuttled backwards like a crab, suddenly full of energy.

“Shhh,” Merry said, glancing at Strider, who already was snoring.

“Oh, he’d sleep through a raiding army right now, I think,” Pippin said, striking without warning to grab Frodo by the arms and flinging him to his back. “Hold him down, Merry!”

Merry grinned and held Frodo’s wrists down while Pippin tickled him mercilessly on his stomach. Gasping and determined not to collapse with laughter, Frodo twisted out of Merry’s grip and with one deft move, grabbed Pippin’s arm and twisted it behind his back. “Say uncle!”

“Uncle! Uncle!” Pippin yelled, laughing and gasping.

“I’m still your older cousin,” Frodo whispered in his ear with a mischievous grin. “Never forget it.”

Strider shifted in his sleep.

Sam said, “Come on, let’s eat before he gets up and gets us walking again.”

Frodo released Pippin and returned to his sandwiches. He passed them out, leaving one for Strider for when he woke up.

“My feet still hurt,” Pippin said, groaning. “They’ll probably never stop hurting. Not until we get to Rivendell, at least.”

Strider rolled over and sat up. He beckoned Frodo to him. “I shall be right back,” he said under his breath. “I am going to scout the immediate area and look for signs of the Black Riders. Be prepared to set off again in fifteen minutes.”

Frodo nodded, swallowing a lump of weariness. How nice it would be if there was no danger and they could just continue to rest in this happy clearing for the night .

“This is hard for you and your folk,” Strider said.

Frodo managed a smile. “It’s good for us.” He patted his belly. “Before too long, it will be difficult to distinguish me from the wraiths!”

Strider grabbed Frodo’s arm with bruising force, shocking a gasp from Frodo. His eyes were dark and grim, and Frodo’s heart thudded with alarm. He tried to pull his arm away but Strider’s grip was unyielding. “Do not ever speak of such things again.” Then, just as abruptly, he released Frodo, leaped to his feet, and set off into the woods.

Frodo wandered back to the others, feeling chastened. He rubbed his arm, newly impressed by Strider’s strength and confused by his fierce response to Frodo’s jest.

“Where did he go?” Pippin asked.

“He’ll be right back,” Frodo said. “Now get ready.” He looked into the woods where Strider had gone. Such a grim man and yet so deeply sad. Frodo wondered if all the Big People were like that.

“He’s a strange one and no mistake,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“Perhaps we should offer him some mushrooms,” Pippin said. “I bet we could find some tasty ones right here.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like mushrooms,” Merry said. “Big Folk have strange tastes. He isn’t very friendly today, is he?”

“I don’t think he’s much used to being around others.”

“I’ve still got two eyes on him,” Sam said.

Frodo smiled. “Don’t worry, Sam. If he had wanted to rob us or murder us, it would have been done already.”

When Strider returned he said, “I see no signs of the Black Riders, but that doesn’t mean they’re not around. I fear they’re waiting until nightfall. We must go on. Have you had enough rest?”

“Some of us did,” Merry said, looking at Pippin and Frodo in exasperation.

“Then let us go on,” Strider said without smiling.

“Strider.” Frodo struggled to meet Strider’s longer strides. “May I speak to you a moment?”

Strider nodded. “What is on your mind?”

“I am sorry about earlier, what I said.”

“I do not beg your forgiveness for being harsh,” Strider said. “I do not feel that you and your kinsmen fear these creatures enough.”

Frodo swallowed against a sharp response along the lines of there being no doubt that he feared them, that he should know, seeing how he was the one that had been pursued from the moment he had fled Bag End. “What worries you now?” he asked instead.

“We’ve more than a fortnight left to go until Rivendell. A lot can happen in that time.”

Frodo nodded, feeling new fear curl inside his stomach. “There’s no comfort in your words, but if a humble hobbit from the Shire may offer some hope, there’s nothing that can be done about it so all we can do is take it one day at a time. And we‘ve nearly made it through the first day.”

“It is not the days that worry me as much as the nights.”

“Well, one night at a time then.”

“The clouds are building, which makes me worry that it might rain tonight, and with rain, a fire is hard to keep going, and above all, we need to keep a fire burning. They fear fire.”

“Merry and Pippin are good at fires,” Frodo said. “I’ve seen them build a fire in the worst of circumstances.” He paused. “Well, for us, that would be a gentle rain in the Shire.”

Strider offered Frodo a heartfelt smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. And Frodo perceived that Strider was thanking him for far more than just offering the aid of Pippin and Merry.

They walked in pleasant silence for a time. Frodo wondered at this wild land, and wondered who had lived in it in the past and who would live in it far in the future when the Shire and Breeland were long gone.

Finally the sun went down and started to set swiftly, and Strider beckoned for them to stop. “We will take cover in this cave.”

“It looks like a Barrow,” Merry said with a shiver.

“There’s a chill,” Sam said. “But it beats lying out in the open.”

Frodo shivered. There was indeed a shiver to the night, a chill that rose with the moon. He felt a terrible slithering fear inside his stomach that hadn’t been there in daylight. Merry and Pippin got the fire started.

“Will they not be attracted to the fire?” Frodo asked Strider.

“It’s possible, but never forget that it is you and what you bear that attracts them. Without a fire, we have little defense.”

Frodo nodded. This was only the first night out of many to come…it was difficult to imagine that he could safely get through this night, much less many others. He hunched forward, shivering.

“Remember,” Strider said, putting his hand on Frodo‘s shoulder. “One night at a time.”

TBC


End file.
